


Bang Bang Goes the Gun

by CircleUp



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV Joker (DCU), Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/pseuds/CircleUp
Summary: Deadpool goes to visit and bang the Joker in a crossover episode that should not have been written.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Wade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Secret Santa 2019 Presents





	Bang Bang Goes the Gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlagueClover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueClover/gifts).



There's so many beautiful, incredible, awe-inspiring ways for people to die.

Did you know that?

Everyone knows about the ancient Romans and their love affairs with rat torture and brazen bulls, but there were so many other ones. Better ones. Cooler ones. Ones that don't get the attention they deserve, really. Any idiot can think of rats. Rats like to eat, it's not rocket science. That isn't creative. But you know what is creative? You could be minding your business one day and then next, you're stuffed inside a donkey corpse and left under the sun to cook away while maggots nibbled you up. Or, oh and this one's fun, listen to this, Emperor Tiberius used to invite his victims to drink wine with him and when they were full, he'd tie up the tips of their penises so they couldn't empty their bladders later. You get to die horribly over days, an infection and atrophy settling in, your kidneys unable to dump their poisons anywhere but your blood. It's so neat, right? So creative! The human mind is really something. Fun. Innovative. A little naughty.

The Joker honestly cherishes it.

He holds a matchbook like a rosary between his fingers, reverent. Half of them are torn out. You don't get to pick up new matchbooks like you used to. Places don't just give them out anymore. You have to plan ahead, order them. The Joker isn't much of a planner, but he always manages to have a matchbook around anyway. He likes matches more than butane. Lighters are so impersonal, so removed. Metallic, machine. Indifferent.

Plus, he likes the sulfur smell.

He pulls one out to strike and flick, and watches the flames skitter as they catch a line of gasoline, blazing down the street to the cars he's set out just for the occasion. Twelve of them in a row go up one after the other, and by the time the last one's burning the first one has exploded, huge and big and bright in the night sky. The explosions shatter windows as they go off one-by-one, making car alarms howl, calling for distant sirens to answer their song. It's festive, really. They're like ornaments on a Christmas tree, and after all, it is almost Christmas.

The Joker can't be faulted for being sentimental sometimes, surely. It's called a character flaw.

"It's kinda exciting here!" says someone, bright and encouraged by all the explosions, and the Joker whips around. It isn't often anyone gets a jump on him. He finds himself facing, judging strictly by the colors, a villain, but not one he recognizes. The Joker tends to associate with villains as outcast as himself, inhumans and mutants and others twisted in ways that make association with normal society all but impossible. This one is masked but seems relatively normal. Human-shaped, at least. The clown lifts an eyebrow.

"It, ah, was yes." He takes the newcomer in. Red, black, wearing two katana across his back and several pistols. The suit looks like it's mostly leather, and probably isn't flammable.

"Fun!" He cheers, and thrusts a gloved hand the clown's way. "Deadpool. Here by special request."

"Whose spe-cial request?" The Joker takes in and ignores the hand, which Deadpool drops, apparently unoffended. He radiates cheer, which is odd since a mask should hide rather than convey an expression.

"A reader! Thus the fanfic. Big crossover episode. I mean it would be like, super cool to meet in canon though, yaknow? Big fan! Prolly never gonna happen, but a girl can dream!"

The sirens are getting closer and the Joker makes a split decision. He'd hoped to spend some quality time with his best Batsy tonight because there's really nothing in the world quite like being punched by the Bats, and the cars were a present the way a cat leaves dead mice out for others to find, but he can just apologize for skipping out later. Something interesting came up!

"You aren't here to, ah, fight?" He wonders, and turns to slip down an alleyway. It leads to a door which leads to a warehouse which leads to another alley. Deadpool follows.

"Oh noooooooo." It's a little eerie how little noise those combat boots make as the mercenary walks alongside the Joker, casual in a way very few people are around the clown. "No no no. Maybe another time, not like super big on some of the stuff you get up to if I'm being perfectly honest with myself and I do try, buuuuuuut," he coos, claps his gloved hands together, and turns to face the Joker before the man can step out the warehouse's opposite door, "like I said, I'm here by special request."

This was interesting at first but now it isn't. The Joker's attention is waning fast. He wonders how Deadpool fights, if he fights like Bats does. Maybe Bats will still fight him if he goes back right now. "You sa-id."

"They want us to fuck," the other man says in that same, bright voice, and Joker's interest is back just like that, circling this new and shiny thing, ready to burn it to the ground. "Which isn't usually something I do for money, but I'm not getting paid so it all works out!"

"You're a, ah, prostitute?" The Joker giggles, his smile splitting wide in incredulity. "Don't usually like men."

"Is that lipstick? That's lipstick, right?" And suddenly Deadpool is _touching_ him, one body-warmed gloved finger pressed to the Joker's lips, swiping at the color like the red could come off, like it's paint, like the Joker hadn't tried that a thousand times himself already. No red comes off. "Huh."

The Joker has a knife out but Deadpool avoids it, twisting around the swipe, and the clown doesn't try again. He isn't really trying to stab him anyway, just testing the waters. Curious. Curious. Deadpool continues like he hadn't just stepped out of a blade's way, "Plus, I'm more pan than kitchenware. Pan enough for us both. And I can catch!"

"Hmm." It's interesting. The Joker tosses the knife and catches it and disappears it back into his clothes. Why not? If the sex is boring he can always flay him. Maybe he'll get to try that brazen bull after all. "Very well," he says, and the mercenary's mouth is on his.

The Joker is no stranger to sex; believe it or not, there are _hundreds_ of people lined up to be fucked by him, despite the hair and skin and mouth, and reputation, and everything else. He has sex regularly, but he doesn't _kiss_ , and he certainly doesn't kiss the way Deadpool does. The mercenary crowds his body up against the clown's, a hand possessive on his waist, the other presumptuously looped around the back of his neck, and he might have said he was the catcher but it's Deadpool's tongue invading the Joker's mouth and not the other way around.

Deadpool is hot to the touch, almost scalding against the Joker's much colder skin. His skin feels… strange too, and when the Joker breaks the kiss and pulls back enough to look at it, he sees the mass of scars where the other man had rolled his mask part way up.

"Pretty," he says, now genuinely interested. It surprises Deadpool into pausing, which lets the Joker take over. He reaches out, fingers deft, to find the seams in the suit hidden to most people.

"It's like that everywhere," Deadpool warns, and the Joker doesn't stop as he efficiently strips him, ignoring that. He doesn't touch his mask.

"Were you bu-rned?" The clown splays a cool hand over Deadpool's chest when it's bare, when he's standing there in nothing but a halfway-up mask and his socks. The Joker isn't a monster. The warehouse floor is cold.

"Long backstory." Deadpool shrugs. He's muscled everywhere, which the Joker can appreciate. Bats is too. Maybe he does like men after all, if they're particularly strong men, and this specimen is particularly strong. The scars don't bother him. After all, how hypocritical could you get?

Deadpool says, "You know, it's paint in some fics. But I like it traditional." He steps forward, naked, to close the gap between them and reach for the Joker's pants. They fasten with a metal clasp and zipper, which he undoes.

"What?"

"Your skin." The Joker blinks down at him, because Deadpool has dropped to his knees now, following the pants down to the ground. They both settle at the clown's feet. "But this isn't paint."

"No," the clown agrees, and for once doesn't feel, privately, secretly, self-conscious. "It's not."

Deadpool kisses the tip of the Joker's cock. His lips are soft, not roughened by the scars over them, and for a moment the Joker thinks he'll take it slow, thinks he'll be bored of it after all, thinks maybe he can stab a knife directly into Deadpool's skull, but suddenly he's being swallowed to the hilt and his mild interest goes to full mast.

Deadpool places his hands at the backs of the Joker's thighs, encouraging, and the clown doesn't need to be told what to do. He puts one hand on the mercenary's head to hold it still and draws himself out, then fucks back in with a snap of his hips. He can feel the throat around him convulsing, fighting not to gag, so the Joker does it again, and again, and again, punishing.

He kind of wants to see that. He wants to see this man gag on his cock, choke on it for real. Maybe the cum will go down the wrong pipe. Maybe after all of this, at the end he'll inhale it and suffocate, and wouldn't that be different? The Joker's thrusts come faster, harder, willing that to happen. Maybe he can stab through the back of Deadpool's throat and spill directly into his soft brain.

He comes with an exhale of air, no voice, his eyes half lidded as he imagines it, but really all that happens is he shoots down the mercenary's throat, who swallows and swallows and incredibly doesn't cough even once. The Joker is honestly impressed. When he looks down he sees Deadpool has his own dick in hand and is just finishing himself off. Cum spills over his hand. Some of it gets on the fabric of the Joker's pants, still pooled around his ankles. He pulls his softening cock out of Deadpool's mouth and bends down to pull his pants up.

Deadpool's voice is fucked out. "Do me a favor," he says.

The Joker decides to humor it, even if he's tired of this now, post-orgasm high. He imagines the cars have been put out by now, which seems like a waste. He didn't even really get to enjoy them.

But Deadpool surprises him by saying, "Finish the fic with a quick headshot. You know," he adds, standing but not bothering to dress. It's just socks and the half-mask and him. He mimes a gun with his pointer finger and thumb. "Pew pew. It's been real but I wanna get outta here."

The Joker has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He says, "Since you asked so ni-cely."

He shoots Deadpool in the head, and blows non-existent smoke off the barrel and pockets it again. It doesn't even have a sheath, it just goes directly into one of his front pant pockets.

What did you expect?

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Clover.


End file.
